Tag Archives: sexual problems

Kate is my therapist. She said this to me in session when I was struggling to make sense of an emotional reaction I’d had. I think it’s a perfect articulation of the somatic experience of shame, and it was especially useful to me in that moment, because I hadn’t yet become aware that shame is what I was feeling. And that’s the thing about shame. It is so good at its job that you don’t even know it’s there. I think that’s exactly what’s happening in our country right now. It’s an ugly process the way it’s being held within our current political structure, but people are bringing it into the therapy room and it tends to go pretty damn well there. So let’s look at why and how, and get moving on resolving this on the cultural level.

Let’s begin by giving shame a face so that we can keep our eyes right on it, which is what shame both hates and needs. Shame is extreme discomfort caused by the feeling of not being ok with oneself. This discomfort stems from a chasm between how a person is seeing themselves or believing themselves to be seen, and how they believe they are supposed to be according to their own standards or societal ones. I often go to the words of Brené Brown for guidance here, and her distinction between guilt and shame is particularly handy: where guilt is “I did something bad,” shame is, “I am bad.” Somatically-speaking, it is the desire to hide when feeling more than a tolerable amount of discomfort with being seen. When we feel shame, we are often motivated to hide at any cost- sometimes literally, sometimes behind thoughts and words. Most painful and most insidious is that shame can be so good at getting us to hide that we will sometimes hide from ourselves. Typing #metoo into the town hall that is social media has been a way to bring ourselves back out into the light, and into the light we are bringing the shame that forced us into darkness. That affords us an incredible opportunity to face and dispel toxicity. But the gravity around shame is strong.

Allow me to disclaim right here that this article does not contain anything graphic, but I am going to discuss various aspects of sexual trauma and that alone can evoke difficult sensations and emotions. Please go slow in reading, and use your intuition to take care of yourself in what ever way you might need. What I’ll be focused on here is the role shame is playing within the #MeToo Movement and how to manage shame outside of the therapy setting, because we are struggling like crazy with resolving our collective experience of it. And thank goodness, because we are long, long overdue.

Brown writes that “shame gets it power from being unspeakable.” I would bet that that’s hugely why it’s taken us so long to begin to look at these topics that evoke so much shame, and why we’re having such a wretched time with it. Working with shame means regularly walking the line between tolerability and traumatization. That is exactly why trauma work requires a trained and practiced professional. And yet here we are having to work it out within our social-political structure.

So let’s get into what shame needs. In the therapeutic setting, shame surfaces the most often around intimacy and sexuality, and especially around sexual or physical trauma. This is because the body and its contact with others is the most potent medium through which we experience ourselves and the world. When these experiences go poorly, especially if they go poorly many times and/or are traumatic enough, shame begins to take up space within them. If we are quite young when these difficult or traumatic experiences happen, shame is particularly likely to rush in as a way to protect us. It is, in fact, a penultimate resort- the last stop before dissociating entirely. Sometimes it simply becomes a launching pad into exactly that. We can’t avoid feeling, but we can avoid feeling what we’re feeling. It’s a brilliant mechanism when we have nothing else at our disposal, and the protective part is something to keep. The work is in replacing shame with other forms of protection, so that feeling can become safe again.

In somatic work, we work directly with the experience of being seen in the literal sense. When in the therapy space a client and I are onto shame and its sneaky little game, we begin to look at the nature of our eye contact, at how much space is between us in the room, whether I’m facing them directly or I’m at an angle, what sort of physical contact might be helpful, if any- all these ways in which we can contact each other in the room. What we’re doing is finding out together what’s needed in order to have safe, comfortable, authentic connection, which is the antidote to shame. From there we continue to practice listening and responding to the body as we work to stay in contact with ourselves and each other.

Let’s deepen this a bit further with an example of how shame typically shows up around sexuality, since it’s sexual content we’re dealing with in our cultural struggle right now. In the therapy room, the experience usually goes something like this: a person realizes that naming something sexual is necessary within what we’re exploring (that is in itself a feat to be celebrated since shame will keep us quiet for a long time). This might be a fantasy or desire, a masturbatory habit, a frightening encounter, or even just a casual remark with sexual content. Even if there’s conscious awareness of how it could help, the disclosure might be followed by sensations of shame. Shame needs no invitation from us. So a person might begin to feel things like: a sinking sensation, pressure in the chest, closing one’s eyes, covering the face, feeling cold, feeling numb, feeling floaty or fuzzy, feeling confused. These sensations overlap heavily with the symptoms of dissociation, and that makes sense, right? Shame is about hiding, and dissociating is a very effective way to hide by hiding from what you’re feeling. For that same reason, anger has a high chance of surfacing in this space. It will sometimes surface when shame is being evoked, and sometimes it will rush in to replace the experience of shame after it’s begun to be felt. Feeling angry is especially common for people who were raised not to show any vulnerability. They don’t know what to do the feeling when it surfaces, so they feel angry at whoever or whatever made them aware of feeling it. I find it really helpful to know how common this is, because it helps me to respond appropriately. Let’s spend another moment on that.

One of the aspects of shame that seems to me to be the least understood is that it will surface entirely on its own. It doesn’t need to be drawn out or added to. Because it’s a protective mechanism of the autonomic nervous system, it pops up automatically. So what’s needed most for the experience of shame to become useful is for it to be safe to become vulnerable. I like to think of shame, and guilt too, like an alarm bell; it lets us know that there’s something to pay attention to. The struggle almost always comes in the response. We have to know how to pay the right sort of attention to shame to create a proper holding environment for resolving what ever is being highlighted by the shame. This is exactly what makes it so incredible when a person who has been a victim of sexual violence is able to speak up for themselves despite a high likelihood of being shamed. They are doing for themselves in that moment something that very few of us can do: create the space to be vulnerable, open up our chests, and keep them open by shrouding them with respect, kindness, and acceptance as we are pummeled with anything but.

I wanted to get this piece of writing out and into your inboxes and feeds, so I’m publishing it in its current form. I keep starting into other components of this dynamic we have around shame, but it’s getting too big for one article. I know what that drive is in me, which also motivates me to stop here for now: I want to help you create a safe holding space for yourself right this very moment, so that you can get on with the beautiful experience of being free to feel. But shame can’t be rushed out the door too quickly, or it comes back louder. The work is only done well at a steady pace. So I’ll keep at it and give you more pieces as soon as I am able to paint them, but I’ll leave you with the name of one particular portrait.

It is incredibly important to this process that we end the stigma around mental health, which contributes to the perpetuation of a hierarchical structure. Right now we’re working with an especially ugly version of patriarchy, but any hierarchical structure is problematic unless (or probably even if) we know how to be truly fair with anyone who we encounter. And this is not to diminish the agonizingly harmful effects of Patriarchy in itself; the problem is cyclical. Patriarchy perpetuates mental illness and the failure to address mental illness serves to maintain Patriarchal structures. If you want to dive further into understanding this in its complexity, I highly recommend the writing of James Baldwin, Audre Lorde, and Laurie Penny. They will show you how necessary it is to understand not just basic but complex principles of psychology and sociology. Low emotional intelligence is a severe hindrance to critical thinking. I happen to believe that emotional intelligence should be a core curriculum subject beginning in the first grade. Naturally there are many people out there teaching children how to notice and make use of their sensations and emotions. Yet what we’re seeing right now is in part an effect of a collectively low ability to address our intrapsychic worlds, so we know that we have to keep working at this. It’s a skill that needs to be more widespread and practiced far earlier in life, so as you move back out into the world after reading this, know that you can have an immediate, steady impact on all of this by being a proponent of mental health literacy.

Leandra Vane is a sexuality blogger and erotica author. She was born with a physical disability and works professionally with people who have developmental disabilities. With a background as a librarian and a bachelor’s in literature, her real love is reviewing and recommending books about sexuality and body identity. She’s a sucker for knowledge, emotional intelligence, and self-actualization. In other words, she’s a total badass.

Why do you consider yourself a sexual outsider, and what was your process for deciding to identify that way?

I was born with Lipomyelomeningocele and though most of the effects are invisible – I can’t feel about half my body, I have kidney/bladder problems, nerve pain – there are a couple visible signifiers in that I walk with leg braces (that I usually keep covered) and have an uneven gait due to a shallow left hip. Even so, by the time I reached college I was completely independent. I lived on my own, commuted to college (and college parties) and usually had two jobs at a time. I am now married, have a full time job, run our household unassisted, etc. Despite my independence and comparatively mild visibility, both men and women asexualize me because of my disability. I have had men tell me that though they would like to date me (or have sex with me) they wouldn’t want anyone to know they were interested in “the disabled girl.” I actually dated one man in private for several months because of this. In college, most of my friends referred to me as “one of the guys” or “just like a sister.” One time a waiter hit on me instead one of the girls in my group and, well, she got pissed off. It came back around to me that she couldn’t believe a guy would pick a disabled girl over a normal one.

The scales were finally tipped when at 19 I went to the doctor to get birth control. I was not sexually active but I planned to be and wanted to be on the pill along with using condoms (which had to be polyurethane as I am allergic to latex). The doctor checked me out and during my examination she told me that because of my body my cervix was low and sex would probably be painful for me. She then told me that sex would probably be painful for the man having sex with me, too. I somehow managed to keep it together but when I got home I ripped up the prescription and cried for a very long time. I went through a period of a few months where I literally felt like I was outside of my body. I felt like my entire identity had been taken away from me. In my mind, a doctor had just told me I couldn’t have sex. I was a virgin at the time, so I didn’t know whether she was actually correct, but I didn’t see any reason to get a second opinion. I was very upset. So few, if any, people acknowledged my femininity, let alone my sexuality, and on top of that I had some monster vagina that would cause my partners and myself pain. It was then I decided I must be asexual.

This was ridiculous, and a part of me knew it. Ever since the hormones kicked in around age 12 I have always been a very sexual person. I found out around this age that I had orgasms just from thinking sexy thoughts and as an adult I very much so enjoy my ability to “think myself off.” I love flirting, I love being sexual, and I always related to people who considered themselves sexual outsiders, people who identified as GLBT and other gender benders like cross dressers. I’ve always read mountains of erotica and navigated my own body to give it maximum pleasure despite the numbness and parts that had limited function. This included kink and fetishes though at the time I was an independent practitioner, using fantasy alone. Yet I went for about a year deciding that I must be asexual. Eventually my sex drive won and I realized that typical sexuality was not going to work out for me. I needed to embrace my kinky side, and I needed to find a partner that was willing to go against the crowd. I met my husband a couple years later and my vagina did not rip off his penis. I ended up going to a specialist and he verified that, yes, my cervix does sit low but this shouldn’t have any real bearing over sexual intercourse, I just might not enjoy certain positions that facilitate deep penetration. No monster vagina for me. However, I do admit that sensation play and spanking are much more erotic for me and I need these things in order to reach orgasm. Rarely do I orgasm from penetration alone (which, um, is not exactly a rare problem from what I’ve researched).

But my identification as a sexual outsider has more to do with sociology than biology. I love being feminine but I feel few people outside the kink community are able to see past my disability to see my femininity. In kink circles and with people who identify as being sexual minorities there is more freedom to be sexual in a way my body needs to be and there is not as much shame. Since then I have explored my sexuality in ways I would not have otherwise. My husband and I have successfully negotiated an open relationship and I have recently begun to appreciate feminine sexuality and have had female play partners. Since my body and my marriage both fall outside the realm of the typical heterosexual monogamous template, I do consider myself a sexual minority.

That is such an incredible journey. I can’t believe that doctor! I’m thrilled that you were able to reclaim your sexual self and find your subculture. In what ways do you find this identification helpful? Unhelpful?

It is helpful in that I have a better relationship with my body and I can finally be who I am instead of what everyone else wants me to be or says I should be. I find it unhelpful in that sometimes labels can go against you. For example, I feel more comfortable in GLBT circles but since I am married to a man and act traditionally feminine, I am not always “welcome.” Sometimes I feel people are in a competition to see who can be the most “hardcore” in kink and people hide behind these labels just as people in the mainstream hide behind the façade of polite society. I have found a few people in kink who are genuine and that is fantastic. But judgment, shame, and competition exist just as strongly in the kink world as in the mainstream.

What advice would you give your young self in regards to sexuality?

Don’t listen to other people! I made myself miserable for so long trying to be what others wanted me to. My family always wanted me to be the nice naïve, inspirational girl I was in elementary school and I know I have disappointed some of them coming out as a sex blogger (though admittedly most of my family still doesn’t know). I also fell into a spiral of self-loathing that I couldn’t be feminine the “right” way. I didn’t want to be androgynous, I didn’t want to be one of the guys. I wanted to be feminine. I had to finally learn that I’m not hurting anyone by wearing a skirt and if other people don’t approve it really isn’t my problem. Also, I am really happy that I confronted my insecurities with things like porn and jealousy at a relatively early age and my husband and I share such an open relationship. I know an overwhelmingly high number of couples who have had their marriages ruined by porn or emotional/physical infidelity at 30, 40, 50. So I do give myself some credit for exploring my sexuality in a healthy way in my 20’s. And I’m only 26, so I have a ton of time left to enjoy that security.

That is no small feat! So what resources do you recommend to others wanting to explore their outside-the-box sexuality?

Sexuality blogs and podcasts are great (Sex Out Loud with Tristan Toarmino and Psychology in Seattle are two of my favorites) but nothing beats a good book to carry with you and give you a safe space to explore. My two favorite publishers are Cleis Press and Greenery Press.

Your book reviews are pretty stellar. And I’m very envious of your library! You seem to know a great deal about kink. At what forms of kink would you say you are proficient?

I love spanking so I am fairly proficient at turning most household implements into disciplinary objects, however they are all used on me. I have experimented with needles, electric wands and rope, though I am always the bottom and the tops are more knowledgeable and efficient at applying these things than I am. I tend to be more interested in relationship dynamics and sociology than participating in scenes as a top.

I think the most misunderstood part of this world is the underlying motivations for one’s sexual desires. Do you know what needs your kink meets for you?

Physical pleasure. I am not drawn to power exchange and though I understand the desire in others I truly do not “get it.” I don’t have a need to submit or dominate. Because I can’t feel half my body, I have erotic zones in really weird places (the crook of my elbow, for example, can give me an orgasm if bit and sucked when I am aroused). Spanking also just feels really, really good. So I really enjoy exploring sensation play so I can have orgasms or feel sexual pleasure. My body is also in pain quite a lot so placing a manageable amount of pain on another body part will alleviate nerve pain. Perhaps it has something to do with interrupting the communication of my nervous system input/output. Whatever it is, I like it.

That is really cool! It sounds like an article on pain as an interruption for pain may be necessary for our readers! Do you have any cool tips on your type of kink?

Not tips, but since I can “think myself off” I do encourage people to use fantasy and masturbate to learn more about what they really desire. I wish masturbation and fantasy were not seen a “less than” partnered sex because I have learned a lot about myself this way.

I can’t really think of any names, but as a quirk I do think that Jalapeño Cheetos are THE BEST sub-space munchies. At events my friends get me a bag so I can be blissful and ride the high for a little longer. I get buzzy after a long scene of sensation play. Even though I’m not submitting in the actual sense, I call it subspace anyway.

That’s delightful, and I definitely want a bag now. Are there things you haven’t tried yet that you might like to get into?

I am interested in more hardcore bondage but with my lack of sensation I need to find someone I really trust. I am also interested in experimenting with age play as it is something I never thought I would do but age players make it look so fun I want to try at a kink event.

There can be so many conflicting or just plain negative messages about sexual outsiderdom. From where do you draw strength and support for doing what you do?

I have few friends in real life that are kinky and I can be my genuine self around. I am slowly “coming out” to friends and family because I don’t want my erotica writing kinky sex blogging life to be a secret forever. But since I live in a very conservative small town I worry about my employment security and random harassment that comes with the territory. So I must admit I get most of my empowerment from books. Books on sexuality, kink, porn, disability, open relationships, fat studies, body identity, beliefs, psychology, sociology, emotions, GLBT studies, etc. They are my sanctuary when I feel alone among people I live and work with. People I have never met who are willing to have the conversations no one else in my life had been willing to have with me. As for support, my husband is number one. We talk and experience things together (including sex with others) and we never stop growing. He supports me and we can be real around each other. Sounds cheesetastic but I never thought I would be connected to another human the way I am with him. We charge each other’s batteries. Is there anything about which you’d really like to spread awareness?

I spoke a lot about my body in the above but my real passion in sex blogging and education is teaching good relationship skills and self-awareness. Jealousy, lack of empathy, adhering to social mores, and poor communication lead to really miserable relationships. People label porn, nonmonogamy, and kinks as immoral and blame them for deterioration of relationships. I believe that being manipulative, neglectful, and lying to your partner are much worse. Yet because many aspects of sexuality are deemed evil or unhealthy, people will continue to lie about them, to themselves and their partners. Not everyone in the world needs to be a polyamorous bisexual Dom but we do need to nurture authenticity in relationships. That means knowing what you need sexually and practicing emotional awareness so you can be confident being safe and nurturing to your partner/s in relationships. Jealousy, porn, temptation, etc is not an almighty force that controls you and your body. You control how you treat others. I wish more people would take responsibility for their lives instead of blaming sex and society. Sorry, I’ll get off my soapbox now

Your personal story and the work that you do is very moving. I think I can safely say that we all hope you’ll stay on that soapbox!

Leandra is currently working on a sexuality memoir entitled “Trophy Wife: Sexuality. Disability. Femininity, scheduled for release in 2015. Follow @Leandra_Vane on Twitter, and check out her fantastic blog, The Unlaced Librarian.

That scenario you imagine so often when you fantasize? Consider the impact it could have on your sex life to be able to successfully communicate what you like about it to your partner.

It is with staggering infrequency that we share our fantasies with our partners. And for good reason: it’s scary! We risk being misunderstood, embarrassed, or causing offense. The first step in avoiding those things is having some depth understanding about ourselves, so that we can communicate the specifics.

Understanding the primary emotional motivation for a fantasy is essential for your partner to be open to it. Let’s look at a common fantasy that has remained pretty taboo: bondage. Suppose “Kelly” likes to imagine what it would be like to be tied up and then pleasured by her captor. Just that one sentence is pretty vague and into your mind may sweep all kinds of scary things: pain, abuse, disrespect, etc. So we need to get more specific. We need to know what Kelly likes about this scenario. Her partner may be overwhelmed with questions or assumptions about what this means to Kelly, and if we end the communication here, this will likely result in the aforementioned icky emotions. What she really needs to say is that she likes to imagine being completely vulnerable to her partner and having experiential proof that she’ll be well cared for- even pleasured- in that space. Relinquishing (or conversely, having) control in a safe space is one of the most common elements of bondage.

From here, Kelly can get even more specific and begin to speak to some of her partner’s concerns. In regards to pain, she may want there to be lots, some, or none. Often people desire to feel the pressure of the binding, but no pain. It’s important that she understands and communicates what she’s interested in, and why.

Understanding the particulars of your own desires is no easy task. I recommend beginning by exploring as much as you can on your own.

Spend some time journaling about it. This is a great place to begin articulating what you feel. We often surprise ourselves with what comes out in writing or speaking aloud. It can be a lot different and/or better articulated when it’s put into words instead of kept as thoughts.

Seek out the support of a therapist. Educated and non-opinionated support is the best kind there is!

Do some reading on the topic. Lots of people have done lots of work to help you with this process! Check out my blog post on Dossie Easton’s book on kink.

Shop for and try out the toys you might need. This is one of the best parts! But if it makes you nervous, be sure to limit yourself to the sex educated stores, such as The Pleasure Chest, Smitten Kitten, or Good Vibrations. You can shop online at all three.

Talk to friends you feel comfortable with. Our friends often know us best and can give some great ideas and advice. You’ll likely be surprised to find that, after some initial awkwardness, most people are willing, even eager, to talk about sex.

Post anonymously in the Reddit community. This is a fabulous beyond fabulous resource for learning about sex in all its beautiful complication. This online community is filled with friendly, non-judgmental, generally well sex-educated, and often terribly funny folk.

Get used to talking to your partner about sex by practicing doing so. Becoming comfortable with sharing vulnerably requires actually sharing vulnerably. (Damnit!) If you find you are often met with judgment, defensiveness, or misunderstanding, you would benefit from the support of a therapist.

As much as possible, do some exploring with your partner. It’s ok to not fully understand what you like and why. Having sex together can be a huge part of your explorative process. For this to go best, set some boundaries before you begin. For example, maybe Kelly isn’t sure if she wants pain or not. Let’s say she’s tried pinching herself a bit and has liked it, but feels nervous about having her partner inflict any pain. She can say exactly that: “I’d like to try having you pinch or bite me a little, but I might not like it, so I may ask you to stop. Is that ok with you?” If this kind of conversation seems impossible, seek the help of a therapist.

All of this can be tough work, but it’s also lots of fun along the way. It is so very worth it, because you deserve to have what you want. And a healthy sex life helps to sustain a healthy and vibrant you.

A sex date is just what it sounds like: a scheduled time to have sex. I highly recommend doing this, even if your sex life is already awesome. But isn’t that a little formulaic? boring? crazy? Nope. Here’s why:

You planned sex before.

When you are in the beginning stages of a relationship, you’re planning sex all the time! You knew how the night was likely to end, so you were making preparations for sexy time almost every night. And the anticipatory excitement was crazy hot! This is essentially no different. And now you have home court (or home away from home court) advantage.

It allows for the easier introduction of new things.

It’s very important that you communicate your sexual wants and needs to your partner. But it can be very difficult! When you have a date coming up, it gives you many opportunities to check things out with your partner in the days beforehand. You can text ideas, photos, articles, etc., which gives both of you time to ready physically, emotionally, and logistically for whatever it may be. Need ideas? Go visit The Pleasure Chest.

You’ll discover you have a favorite time of day for sex.

This is super important! Number one, we let ourselves get overtired often. Overworking is even valorized in our society. More importantly, our level of arousal fluctuates during the day and not always due to the presence of stimuli (or lack thereof). Just as some of us are morning people and others are night owls, some people want it right off the bat, some need a midday recharge and others prefers it at nighttime. And there are oodles of options in between.

Here’s a good test to discover your “prime time” before scheduling your date: when do you usually masturbate when you’re home alone all day? If you don’t masturbate, get on it, because you’re missing out. Somatic therapy can help you explore your blocks to masturbating.

No one gets stuck with the role of initiating.

Many couples fall into a pattern where one person or the other does all or most of the initiating. Interestingly, this isn’t correlated with higher desire. It happens for a myriad of reasons, which you can explore in therapy. Sex dates will mix up this dynamic. Yes, it can still show up a bit when it comes to setting the date or when the clock rolls around to your scheduled time. But simply knowing that you’re both committed to your sexy time makes an enormous difference, because it means you both want it.

You can make your sexy time anything you want.

And you don’t actually have to have sex. Sex dates are about increasing connection and intimacy, and committing to this time together. Flexible sex dates can be especially important for anyone with a difficult sexual history. So make it whatever you feel like in the moment.

Need a few ideas from the infinite number of possibilities? Try snuggling, mutual masturbation, spooning, watching porn together, napping together, or one of my favorites- skin time (bare skin against bare skin).